What a crappy birthday
by MaidenofIron157
Summary: After 'Freddy vs. Jason' Freddy got his body back, but a year later disaster strikes; four bounty hunter show uo with supernatural weapons, and their targets are our favorite slashers.


*I have writer's block, so don't comment, "Aw, why won't you write more a the other story? DO IT!" No I will not 'cause I ran outta ideas! Give me time!*

Freddy Krueger banged his head on the waterlogged living room wall, crying out in pain and retracting away, rubbing the spot self inflicted. He groaned, "Damn it all to Hell..."

That's when his hearing perked, catching his attention; the roar of an engine. A vehicle. People. Victims. He narrowed his eyes and glared at the air, growling in displeasure.

He couldn't kill anymore. No one feared him. And if no one feared him, he couldn't kill. And if he couldn't kill, he was slowly breaking down, getting weaker and more vulnerable the longer it was he was trapped in this abandoned camp, now know only as Camp Blood.

The demon hated it there. He hated the fact he couldn't leave, hated that he couldn't fight with the one who had imprisoned him in the first place without ending in physical abuse, hated that he couldn't kill.

He wanted to be scary, actually scary. Fear worthy, having little children, HIS children, screaming and pleading for mercy, begging for him to spare their worthless lives. Oh, he never listened. He'd torture them until their scrawny, pathertic bones cracked, their vains burst, blood flowing down until they died a vengeful, grotesque death he believed they deserved.

But he couldn't. Jason wouldn't let him. He's tried in vain, failing. Jason just held him back, keeping him at bay. And then he'd cause him physical harm, punishment, Freddy supposed. That's the reason he had large, permanent bruises on his right arm running from his shoulder to his wrist and two deep scars stretching from his forehead to his cheek over his left eye.

You might be wondering; if there are people, humans, entering the campgrounds, wouldn't he be able to frighten them, radiate fear, murder their disgusting bodies? No. Camp Blood was Jason's domain, and his alone. Freddy had indeed tried to scare the little buggers, quite a few times, actually. The hockey masked killer would take care of them first, afterward dealing with the rebelling dream demon. Ever since Jason has kept him locked in one of the rooms until he was finished.

Casting a dark look at the withering door, which almost immediatly slammed open, reboounding off the interior wall because of the amount of force used, Freddy saw the ominous, lumbering figure of Jason Voorhees tredge inside, looking at Freddy with blank olive green eyes. They were void of all emotion, the zombie's trusty machete loosely held at his side, dripping fresh blood that was beginning to puddle on the already dampened floor, seeping in.

Freddy quickly glanced at the crimson liquid, looking back up to his mask. Jason held the same expression (though it was concealed), causing Freddy to send him a sharp glare, scowling lightly and tightly crossing his arms. He turned on his heel, stalking away and up the stairs, each creaking and moaning pleas of upset of the sudden weight embarked upon their old wood. Jason's eyes carefully followed every move Freddy made, making sure he didn't try to escape. When he was out of view Jason turned, practically dragging his feet and himself out the door, shutting and locking it with a satisfying click.

Hearing the usual sound of the closing door Freddy threw his scarred head over his shoulder, glaring at the room at the bottom of the staircase. He turned back around, sighing irritabley with the slightest hint of sadness etching his tone, making his way rather miserabley the rest of the way up the stairwell.

"Why do the little fuckers just keep coming?" he grumbled moodily, punching open the door to the first room he saw; Jason's old room. Freddy wasn't allowed in the other's room- Hell, he was lucky Jason let him roam around his own home, let alone his dwelling space!

Of course, Freddy knew extremely well of this rule, for he had broken it before by accident. So he knew the consequence. Though, the dream dmon did have a rather good reason to be cranky; not only had it been well over a year since he had been held prisoner against his inhuman will, today was his birthday, of all days.

Not that he was going to tell anyone, and especially not Jason. Not like that idiot would give a damn anyway, he figured. No one does.

"Ah, screw it," he said flatly, walking inside and closing the door behind him with a dull thud. He gazed around at the molding room. Everything was either covered with a thick layer of dust or had a rancid odor eminating from it.

Freddy grimaced, covering his nose and sitting down in front of the door, legs crossed lotus style. His head was now resting in his declawed hand, staring dumbfoundedly at the other. The weaponary glove he had so many times used before was constantly flickering, like that of static on a television screen. Who knew how long he had before it disappeared completely, making him utterly vulnerable, supernatural abilities disenegrated, able to die? He hadn't a clue, but wasn't exactly keen on finding out, either.

He set both hands in his lap, sighing quietly while staring blankly at the floor. As always, he was using this "down time" to think. "Why is it always me?" Freddy whispered.

The dream demon faintly heard a yell, multiple gunshots ringing through the air and interupting the eerie silence, This caught his attention, and Freddy's head snapped upward, gazing out the smudged window, his eyebrows furrowed in concentration and confusion as he muttered indredulousl, "What the Hell?..."

No one EVER came to Camp Blood to go hunting, or anything else involving shooting something on PURPOSE, and Freddy knew Jason didn't own any gun of any kind. His stomach twisted into a knot, and he had an extremely warnful felling creep up his spine; they shot Jason.

Eyes ever so slightly widening he wobbily got to his feet, locking the door as a loud bang sounded, the downstairs front door busted down. Voices were heard again, though Freddy wasn't paying any attention, taking a few steps back. Pounds ensued not long after the fact, reverberating off the old wood. There were too many at once, that signalled too many people at once.

"Shit!" he hissed, glancing around for somehting, anything that could help. Seeing nothing the bangs became louder, followed by cursing jeers and shouts. Freddy spun around, beginning to open the window considering he would never be able to bust the glass, having it to covered in goop and sludge.

The window opened a crack, and Freddy pushed it up, large enough for him to squeeze through. Crawling out he landed lightly on the ledge underneath, closing it wtih a soft snap. He couldn't hear anything coming from the room, and cautiously turned, jumping off the two- story ledge and landing hard on the ground, crouching down involentarily as his unbladed hand touched down as well, balancing his weight.

Looking up he nearly gasped, hopping up and rushing over to the hulking figure of Jason Voorhees, his body fliching madly. A hole was in the middle of the forehead of his mask, black blood pouring to the ground.

Freddy fell to his knees next to him, shaking his arm to wake him up, saying in the concern he unsucessfully tried to hide, "Jason? You bastard, get up!"

Jason's eyes clenched shut, and he grunted in some pain, growling annoyingly and sitting upright. The knot in Freddy's stomach untied, and he was innerly relieved. A loud crack echoed throughout the campgrounds, someone screaming, "There they are, Mark!"

Freddy whipped around, seeing two shotguns equiped with hightech contraptions sticking out the now broken window of Jason's used- to- be- bedroom, one pointed at him, another at the machete weilding slasher. He backed up into the brick wall that was the now standing Jason. Glaring evilly at the weapons he bent down, setting his hand on either side of Freddy's abdomen, lifting him into the air.

At that very moment a bullet glowing a gold tint plunged deep in the ground where Freddy had been seated not even a second earlier. The dream demon wrapped his arms around Jason's neck, staring down at the ground it was lodged in, which was vibrating and pulsing yellow, pebbles jumping about.

Jason had one arm supporting Freddy's back, the other underneath his legs. Freddy didn't really care, and was actually rather fearful, for the first time in who knows how long. He was clinging onto Jason like a skull to crossbones, as though if he let go he'd have a brutal death, which was a fair assumption, truth be told.

"You bastards!" another shrieked, and another gunshot rang about. Jason ducked, almost carelessly, and the emerald engulfed bullet dug into the dirt behind them. Freddy gripped Jason tighter, not caring who saw; he was scared, and would admit it. Yes, he was still immortal (for the time being), but he could be gravely injured. He didn't want his life to end so soon, or be in such jeopardy as this/

Jason shot a fierce glare at those now in his old room, turning to the side and hurrying off to the campgrounds themselves, Freddy still securely in his arms. A shout came as he ran; "Get them!"

//SLASHER//-\\POWER\\

Soon they had reached the actual camp part of Camp Blood. Heading for one of the run- down, rotting cabins Jason (suprisingly quietly) made his way up the stairs, kicking in the door that was already hanging on one rusted hinge. It didn't fall off, but rebounded hard.

He walked inside, as carefully as possible setting Freddy down on the single bed, which actually wasn't as disgusting as let on. The dream demon grabbed the sleeve of his coat, keeping him back with a soft tug.

Jason's eyes shone with utmost confusion. "Don't leave me here," Freddy said, for once in a non- commanding tone; it was pleading. "They'll come for me. I don't wanna be alone." He hadn't meant to say that, but it came out, anyway.

Jason looked at him in sympathy, gently running his fingers over his cheek. Freddy closed his eyes in comfort, leaning into his palm and nuzzling against the decaying skin.

Almost unwillingly the zombie pulled away, Freddy half liddedly opening his eyes again to gaze at him, and extremely disappointed look present on his scorched visage.

Without a second glance Jason stalked out of the one roomed cabin, closing the door behind him in utter silence. Freddy stared at it long and hard, almost sadly, wrapping his arms aroud his thinner- than- should- be frame, looking to his boots now swinging childishly back and forth.

with no warning of any kind he screamed in aggrivation, punching the termite infested wall in furiousity. He glared at the now angry red fist, wincing in pain and growling out, "What the FUCK is wrong with me?"

//SLASHER//-\\POWER\\

As to Jason's wishes, the dream demon had stayed put in the cabin until nightfall. He had fallen asleep about an hour earlier, breaths soft and steady.

And then- BANG BANG BANG on the old wood wals, erupting from outside. Freddy's eyes snapped open, and he shot right up, head turning to the source. It was pitch black, and he was having trouble adjusting to the darkness, but he was hearing just fine.

There it was again- BANG BANG BANG. Curiousity getting the better of him and overcoming his conscience screaming at him to stay put he heaved him slef off the bed, matress creaking slightly in reponse. He walked over to the grimy window, peering out side and hearing voices.

Three men, the fourth lying in a bloody, mangled heap at their feet, had a certain hockey masked mute beaten down and in their grasp. He was handcuffed with glowing chains; unbreakable bonds. Freddy could see the red in his eyes as he glared at the shouting, arguing men in utmost rage.

"You're a fucking retard, Jeff!" one screamed.

"Fuck off, Mark! We got 'im, din't we?" another shot back.

"Where's dat Krueger dude with da burns an' shit, hmm?" the last hissed at Jeff, who retorted.

"Who cares? He lost ta this oaf of a goalie." He thumbed Jason, who's glare became more intense. Freddy's eyes narrowed indefinately at the comment, lightly growling.

Mark slapped him on the back of his head. "That 'Krueger dude with da burns an' shit' is our ticket ta big bucks." He rubbed his fingers together. "Kapeesh? The little wimp costs more fer 'is ass den dis sorry fucker." His eyes flickered to Jason.

The other, Wayne, scoffed, raising his jacked up shotgun at Jason, pointing it at his stomach. "You two idiots do whateva you gotta do; this Voorhees guy screams trouble bein' alive."

Freddy covered his mouth to keep from gasping, eyes wide. The last he saw before moving to swing open the door was Wayne pull back a red, sphere shaped contraption connected to the trigger, afterward pulling said trigger.

A sharp, high pitched noise resembling and alarm ensued, not dying down. Jason grunted, shaking his head fiercly as it shut off his hearing, hurting his head.

The door was thrown open, though not a single human nor inhuman took any smidge of notice. Freddy jumped off the stairs, landing on his feet and straightening up nearly immediately. He sprinted at Jason, silently and with a great deal of unknown strength and adreniline pushing him out of the guns line of fire.

The same could not be said for himself.

Jeff and Mark were yelling something incomprehesible over the shrill moise, Jason falling with a heavy thud on the ground, rolling over and looking at the froxen Freddy in amazement and shock.

Said dream demon was too terrified to move, paralyzed as he stared down the barrel of the shotgun pointed at dead center at his cherst. A boom like that of a canon erupted, and a bullet engulfed in a whitehot, firelike substance showed not long after.

Not even a millisecond later in had penetrated into its projectile, the force following it blowing Freddy back a few yards. His spine slammed hard into a tree trunk, and his breath caught, eyes nearly rolling up into his skull as he tried breathing. He failed, and unsucessfully tried screaming. Nothing came out, and wave after wave of searing pain pulsed through his body.

He calmed, unnaturally so, and fell, sliding down the bark with closed eyes as his head lolled on his shoulder. He wasn't moving, and wasn't breathing. The constantly flickering weaponary glove vanished without a trace in the blink of an eye, as though never there.

Jason's eyes narrowed, confused. The humans were cheering, not like he was paying attention. With difficulty he got to his feet, hurrying over to the frail figure of Freddy Krueger. Softly, he kicked his leg, expecting him to jump up and begin cursing him out like always.

Freddy did no such thing, and stayed unmoving beneath the tree and Jason's towering form. The hockey mask adorning slasher kicked him again, harder. The same reaction was the outcome.

A voice in his head was screaming, for once not his mother; "Freddy's not getting up, he's hurt, help him... Freddy's not getting up, he's hurt, help him..." It repeated over and over again, almost like a mantra. Jason was ignoring it to the best of his ability, not believing what was happening. Freddy can't get hurt, he thought. He can't, he can't, HE CAN'T!

A murderous glare reached his dull eyes, and he shot it towards the utterly oblivious gun weilders. Looking around he rammed his back up against antoher tree, making it tremble. The chains that had forbidden him from using his hands broke, snapping in tow as if nothing.

Jason cracked his neck, getting ready for the soon- to- be uproar of a battle. Pulling his blood caked machete from its sheath he wound his arm back, pegging it at the group to no one imparticular.

Coincedently, it hit Wayne. Cutting through the shotgun with ease the machete didn't stop, plunging all the way through his chest and piercing his lungs. Wayne choked, blood pouring from the wound like a waterfall. The deep liquid spurted from his mouth as he and the gun were speared like shishkabobs. He fell face first, twitching madly.

Glaring viciously Jason's fists clenched, low, animalistic growls escaping his nearly decapitated vocal chords as he took a menacing step towards Jeff and Mark. The tow screamed like little girls on roller coaster, flailing their arms in the air as they took off into the woods.

Having a slight grin etch his lips behind his mask Jason chuckled a deep, raspy laugh, knowing full well they wouldn't get away; before they had found and shot him he'd done their vehicle in. The engine's totalled, its worthless. And no one- I repeat, NO ONE, escapes Jason Voorhees alive.

The sliced- through shotgun had an electrical current of blue fuzz shake about its metal. A thin, sharp bolt of it sparked off, shooting past Jason and hitting Freddy square in the chest at such a speed he hadn't even known it had happened until the other's eyes snapped open, gasping as the "shock therapy" came to an end. Desperately trying to breathe properly Jason kneeled down next to him, pulling him into a bone- crushing hug.

Looking to see who was causing his body stress and threatening to fracture his ribs Freddy had a shy smile of relief wash across his face. And soon, Jason let him go, as he believed would indeed happen.

"Thanks," he sighed. "Thought you were tryin' ta hug me ta death." He quietly laughed at that. Jason rapidly shook head as Freddy continued, his voice mumbled so Jason couldn't hear. Of course, he did; Jason hears all. "What a crappy birthday."

The taller man suddenly remembered something, and it clicked in his head. Without warning he picked Freddy back up, throwing him over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes.

As usual when Jason does something Freddy finds stupid and unnecassary, the dream demon began screaming and cursing, cheeks tinting a bright pink in humiliation. "Jason, you fucking retarded asshole, PUT ME DOWN!" The other either ignored him or honestly hadn't noticed he sopke at all as Freddy pounded his fists on his back and kicked his feet in vain trying to free himself of the firm grasp he was being held in, the arm around his waist keeping him in place.

This continued for some time until Jason came upon his hand- made cabin of metal, vines crawling up the sides as it was shrouded by bushes, trees, and shrubs. Growling in annoyance Freddy said heatedly, "Mind tellin' me where the fuck we're goin'?"

As if to answer the question Jason swung open the door, ducking while walking inside. Freddy squirmed, trying to get Jason to let him go; he'd never exactly been carried around like a ragdoll before, and he most certainly didn't enjoy it.

The zombie hefted him off his shoulder, balancing the scorched man on the ground, covering his bright green eyes with his hands. Freddy's eyebrows furrowed slightly in aggitation, struggling to wrench Jason's hands away.

"Augh, Jason! Get the Hell off so I can see, you retard!" he demanded, but by this time the taller had already tuned him out. He looked around the interior, making sure all he had set up hadn't been moved or disorientated any which way.

When he was positive all was well with Freddy yelling random indults his way he removed his hands, granting the sweater adorning killer sight. At first he was intensely glaring at everything, but that soon calmed to a look of suprise.

A messagwe was scrawled across the wall before them in fresh human blood, still reeking of death; HAPPY BIRTHDAY FREDDY, it read.

"Wow..." he breathed, gazing at it in fascination. Jason knew? he thought incredulously, not noticing said murderer move off to the left of him, picking up a dirty cloth with something hidden inside it. He looked to Freddy, who had an actual, genuine smile on his lips. Lightly tapping his shoulder he got his attention, and shoved the item into his hands. Freddy cocked a brow in question, and pulled the rags back, having a broad grin immediatly overcome his facade.

It was the glove left at 1428 Elm Street. Giving Jason a look he said smuggly, "This what you wen ta get that month you were gone?"

He sheepishly rubbed the back of his neck, and Freddy knew that was a yes. Having no real knowledge of why exactly he did it Freddy tightly hugged Jason, saying gratefully and truthfully, "Thank you!"

Jason looked at him, confused. Thank you? he mused. Isn't Freddy mean? Putting it at the back of his mind, he patted his hat as though he were a dog, Freddy not caring. He let go of the Crystal Lake Killer, straping the new glove on his right hand. Flexing the fingers he looked to Jason with eyes gleaming in bloodlust, and the other nodded, understanding. Jason picked Freddy back up, over his shoulder as before.

This time Freddy laughed instead of shouting, Jason marching out the cabin and into the quickly darkening woodland of New Jersey. "We gettin' rid a them sorry shits that tried to kill us?" Freddy questioned with a slick grin, just suceeding in having Jason nod again. Letting out his homocidal cackle and fanged filled cheshire cat smirk he rubbed his hands together, saying, "They so deserve it." 


End file.
